


your name like a song

by chococo_mao, persephonea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bartender Connor, Centerpiece Theory, Crying During Sex, M/M, One Night Stands, Overstimulation, Strangers to Lovers, Top Connor, power bottom hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 01:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20126932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chococo_mao/pseuds/chococo_mao, https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephonea/pseuds/persephonea
Summary: The man drums his fingers on the sticky marble top. “A Jim Beam, on the rocks.”Connor feels the eyes on him as he searches for the glass, digging it out from the depths of the cabinet. This one will do nicely. He pours two fingers of bourbon, adding clinking ice, and slides the glass across the counter, slowly. He catches the man’s gaze and maintains eye contact, drawing his own provocative brow up. He directs the man to the lighthearted font covering the glass.Remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later.





	your name like a song

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a [thread](https://twitter.com/beethkay/status/1148694302043856901?s=20), which started out with the silliest concept until Mao and I turned it into a full-blown sexy marathon. In the fic, we fleshed out the intro scene, so now there's even more for you to enjoy :)

The bar is busy, pleasant night drawing in people like moths to a flame. Loud music vibrates through the crowd, moving in a tantalizing dance, electric beat directing the leaves of grass. Connor is caught up in the tinkling of glasses, his hands flying from the shelf to the counter at the speed of light.

It’s nearing the Cinderella hour and his carriage is waiting for him, ready to take him home to a quick shower and a comfortable bed. The group of laughing, considerably buzzed college students takes leave for the dance floor and the bar empties out for a small moment of mercy.

“You sure can’t find a second to take a breather, kid.”

Connor turns, following the voice through the booming beat to find a man leaning against the counter in the farside corner. Connor thinks he might have forgotten how to breathe altogether.

“Not when you take my breath away.”

The words leave his mouth without Connor issuing the order and it gets him a raised brow and icy blue gaze piercing through him and warming his cheeks.

“Does that usually work?” The corners of the man’s mouth lift up in amusement.

Connor watches a gap-toothed smile light up his face and feels weak in his knees. Silver hair frame handsome features, strong nose, expressive eyes, harsh wrinkles around his lips half-hidden in a soft looking beard. His large form strikes an impressive figure against the flashing light behind him.

“Not as a stand-alone act, no.” Good thing, Connor’s quick on his feet. “What can I get you, sir?”

The man drums his fingers on the sticky marble top. “A Jim Beam, on the rocks.”

He feels the eyes on him as he searches for the glass, digging it out from the depths of the cabinet. This one will do nicely. He pours two fingers of bourbon, adding clinking ice, and slides the glass across the counter, slowly. He catches the man’s gaze and maintains eye contact, drawing his own provocative brow up. He directs the man to the lighthearted font covering the glass.

_ Remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later. _

He sees the man squint, first at the glass, then at him, or rather, at the little metal name tag pinned to the front of his shirt. The furrow in his brow is cute, Connor thinks, drawing attention to the fine line of his nose. He waits patiently. There’s no place for rushing in the craft of seduction. 

The man snorts as he lifts the glass to take a sip. Connor watches the great expanse of his neck, his throat bob as he swallows. He notes the unmarred surface, decorated here and there with stray wisps of hair from his beard. It all leads to one conclusion, though, there’s a lot of real estate waiting to be claimed.

“Thank you, Conrad.” 

Connor’s pulled out of his thoughts with a snap. He can feel his face twist immediately from a carefully arranged look of casual anticipation to a flat grimace. Two botched attempts at flirting must be a sign to stop. 

“Not a problem,” he fixes his expression back to an acceptable neutral positivity, taking the empty glass back. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“How ‘bout your number?” he says with a grin, as if he had not _ just _ called Connor by the wrong name. 

Connor falters. He doesn’t exactly consider not giving his number; the man’s handsome smile, his chin balanced on the back of his laced hands, all of it promptly banishes the thoughts before they even form. So Connor pulls a notepad out of his waist apron and scribbles his name and number onto it. 

He hands it over, watching with bated breath as the man digs around in his pocket. He pulls out a small case, opening it up to reveal a pair of glasses.

“Oh,” Connor breathes, but it falls on deaf ears in the heavy beat of the club music. He watches, captivated, as the glasses are perched on the tip of that elegant nose. He grips the counter hard, so hard his knuckles turn white. 

“Shit.” The man looks at him over the glasses. “You’re Connor.”

“I am.”

“Fuck.” Connor’s starting to think he has quite the mouth on him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” 

“Let me make it up to you.”

Connor leans on the counter, curve in his back, fixing all of his focus on him in an attentive look. “I’m listening.”

“You busy after? Maybe we can go somewhere.”

“Okay, if you can figure out where,” Connor turns away with a giddiness in his step. He doesn’t want to be too overt in his excitement, so he reaches for the bottle of Jim Beam again to pour out another glass, just to give his hands something to do. 

He places the glass on the counter, slipping it into the space made by his date-to-be’s loosely folded hands. “I didn’t order that.”

“It’s on the house, to tide you over,” Connor smiles. “I’m off at eleven.”

Hank doesn’t order another drink the rest of the night, but he stays in his stool, keeping his claim on the seat he had purposefully chosen for the optimal angle to sneak glances at the cute bartender - Connor, he knows now. In fact, he doesn’t think it’s possible for him to ever forget.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to ask Connor out, he hasn’t done shit like that for years, certainly, hasn’t felt the urge to. Connor’s bright eyes drew him in easily, shining sweetly in the forceful light of the club. An earnest smile that welcomed Hank’s advances and struck back with the sort of determination Hank admired.

Watching him pass that smile to other customers, working fast to meet their demands, Hank appreciates the long line of his body, spinning swiftly as he reaches for the bottles on the shelves. He tries to be subtle about his gaze following Connor more often than not, but the bartender turns to him with a glint in his eyes a couple of times until the clock strikes eleven.

When Connor finally gestures for Hank to meet him in the back, giving him one last heated look, Hank feels the foretaste of what’s to come tangibly scratching at the walls of his stomach.

Connor meets Hank outside, he’s changed out of uniform and is decked out in his biker jacket. Hank thinks his jaw might have just carried out a proverbial drop. 

“Ready to go then, sweetheart?”

“Um, it's Hank, actually.” Hank clears his throat. “But you can call me whatever you like,” he adds, indulging Connor and if he’s being honest, himself as well. The bartender holds himself like he’s ready to strike again and Hank can’t wait to see how far he’s willing to go for what he wants. 

“Think of it as payback. You look more like a sweetheart, anyway.” Connor winks, and swings himself onto the bike, patting the seat behind him for Hank to get on. “Where to?”

Hank seems to draw a blank for a second before remembering his only viable option - be home before twelve at the latest so as not to have his dog munch his Cinderella pumpkin.

He rubs his hands together awkwardly. “I was thinking.. Look, I have a dog. Gotta feed him or else he’s going to chew through my upholstery.”

Seeing Connor’s face light up is like finding the first primrose curled in the grass dotted with dew. “Oh, I love dogs! Your place it is then.”

Hank offers him his own small grateful smile and climbs on the bike. Connor fits against him like a glove, he hopes he doesn’t mind the proximity Hank very much enjoys. Pushing closer, he holds on tight.

When Hank’s bulk presses into Connor from behind, soft and warm against his back, Connor takes a deep breath before he starts the engine. Hearing it revving up under the starry cover of a quiet summer night, it soothes his nerves and fills him with a tingling anticipation. He’s looking forward to touching every inch of that body if Hank lets him.

Hank leans in close and whispers directions into Connor's ear the whole time. Connor never loses his grip on the handle, but it feels like he’s slipping, feeling gentle scratches of that beard, brushing periodically against his cheek, his neck, the ghost of a kiss. He's ready to shove Hank against the front door by the time they pull in.

Connor jumps off his bike, grabs Hank's hand and drags him towards the house at the end of the driveway, a little rough around the edges but welcoming.

Hank lets go of him to pat himself down, looking for keys and Connor has to fight hard to keep his hands to himself. Once the door's unlocked, he shoves Hank inside, hands coming up to hold his face, looking at his lips with clear intent.

“May I?”

“Please,” Hank breathes out, in awe of the man whose wild desire is woven into each of his looks, each of his movements.

Connor latches onto him, kisses him, deep and hungry, presses himself against Hank's bulk, feeling his body just like he wanted to do outside.

Abruptly taken of his eager exploration, he startles suddenly at a loud bark behind them and something nudges into the back of Connor's knees, making him lose his balance.

“Hey, slow down, hotshot!” Hank wraps an arm around Connor’s torso to prevent him from smashing his head against the wall.

“Cockblocked by my own dog,” Hank mutters with traces of laughter in his voice. “Meet Sumo. Sumo, this is Connor.” He leans down to scratch the dog’s ear, twitching slightly. “You'll be hearing his name a lot tonight, presumably. Sorry, bud.”

Connor feels his face burning and his heart swell. The man certainly does have a charm about him.

“I gotta get him sorted out first.” Hank eyes Sumo, who's already lumbering back into the kitchen. Turning back to Connor, he shoots him a smoldering look. “Meet me in the bedroom?” 

Connor feels his breath catch, which is a bit silly considering he started this whole arrangement. He can't scramble fast enough to find the bedroom. There aren't many doors to choose from in the hallway, and he bursts into one he thinks is Hank's. Spreading himself out nicely - enticingly - on the sheets, he waits while observing his surroundings with a tinge of curiosity. Decor doesn’t seem to be Hank’s forte but he spies an open closet with rows of atrocious, colorful shirts, which puts a small smile on his face.

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.” Hank walks in, chest bare and the shirt wrinkled in his hands. Connor sits up ramrod straight on the bed, eyes wide as he takes him in. Hank smirks at his reaction, in a slow swing throws the shirt on the floor of the closet and closes the door.

“There was.. a dog-related accident.”

Connor can't help but drink him in, larger than life, he's carrying himself with confidence which seems to only grow as he puffs out his chest under Connor's appreciative gaze. Connor shakes his head, gathering his wits.

“I like your dog. He's very smart,” Connor says, grinning widely at him. “Made my job easier.”

“Oh, did you want to get me out of my clothes by any chance?”

Connor gestures to Hank to come closer. “Been wanting to rip them off since the moment I saw you, sweetheart.”

Hank gulps and walks into Connor's waiting arms.

Connor winds them around the thick neck and kisses him. He leans back against the bed, pulling Hank along so that his entire weight falls against him. He's large, and soft, and so, so heavy. Connor sighs.

“Sorry- sorry.” Hank tries to push himself off, but Connor stops him, his legs hooking around Hank's waist. Connor’s feels sweet tingling spreading in his lower abdomen. His legs are longer than average, and even he has trouble circling Hank's waist completely. 

“Let me feel you, please.” He squeezes his thighs around Hank’s hips.

“Connor,” Hank whispers the name into the crook of Connor's neck.

“Oh baby, I haven't even done anything, don't wear it out.” Connor pulls Hank's head closer and Hank gets the hint, lips meeting the soft skin there while Connor's hands set about a thorough exploration.

Hank's bulk is a delicious weight pressing him down and Connor's quickly getting rock hard under him. He thinks, perhaps, he could come just like this, bucking desperately into Hank's soft gut, chasing the pleasure against his wonderful, pliable body.

But at the moment, there are other things he intends to do with him which require them to move about.

“Sweetheart,” he pinches Hank's hip. 

“Hmm,” Hank mouths at his collarbone.

“I don't want this to be over embarrassingly fast before I get to be inside you.”

“Oh,” is all Hank says to that.

“If that's alright with you, of course. We can do whatever-”

Hank kisses him fiercely on the mouth. His eyes shine in the low light and Connor feels a bit lightheaded at the eagerness he sees in them. This evening is turning out to be more than he expected it to be. He sincerely hopes it ends up being more.

“More than alright.”

Connor's response is to flip them over. He settles himself between Hank's open thighs, and they cage him in. Immediately, Connor misses having the full weight of Hank on him, but if this venture goes as he plans, well, maybe they'll have many more nights together.

Nights where he can feel Hank everywhere: above him, surrounding him, inside him. He gasps softly as his thoughts run wild, and it doesn't escape Hank's notice.

“Thinking good thoughts?” Hank toys at the waistband of Connor's tight pants, dipping his fingers in teasingly. Connor's still fully clothed, jacket and all. He had been waiting for Hank to come back so they could undress each other, but it looks like Hank jumped ahead of him.

He supposes Hank will just have to face the consequences for it then. 

“Thinking about how I'm going to take you apart,” he lowers himself, suddenly keenly aware of the hard cock pressed against his thigh. A shame that it won't be used much tonight. “Slowly, patiently.”

He runs his hands along Hank's sides and revels in the way the powerful muscles dance under his touch. “You're going to beg for it.”

Hank catches his hands and smiles, not sharply as Connor would expect, it softens the lines of his face and hides shyly in his beard. “Do your worst.”

Connor's heart beats inappropriately fast for such a small gesture. Hank has his own way of taking him apart without touching him. He bites his lip to let the sting drive his focus. Not wasting any more time, he takes Hank’s pants off, grinning pleased when he sees the damp spot on Hank’s boxers.

“What are we going to do about that?” He asks in a conversational tone.

"You could touch me." Hank suggests, hips arching to get closer to Connor’s hovering hand.

"I could. Hm." He doesn’t.

Not where Hank wants him at least. He starts with Hank’s chest. It feels heavenly under Connor’s hands, under his mouth, tender, supple.

Hank’s moan sounds lovely when Connor bites down gently and after he pulls away, the spot he worried with his teeth is already turning deep red. 

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” he says as he runs his thumb over Hank’s hardened nipple, watching him squirm.

“I bet you would like me even more if you saw all of me.”

Connor can’t help the loud laughter that Hank’s cunning move to manipulate his attention draws out of him. Hank chuckles too and Connor watches, fascinated, as his belly moves with the low vibrations.

“I think I’m going to have to trust you on that.” Curious himself, he moves to take off Hank’s boxers.

They get caught on the way down on his cock, and Hank flushes a charming red that spreads all the way to his chest.

“Must be a good sign.” Connor's smile reassures him, and the next thing Hank knows, he's completely exposed, and Connor's still wrapped up tight in his layers.

Connor zeroes on giant cock. It's even more impressive in person, the tip leaking, waiting to be touched. “You weren't lying,” Connor says, awed. He wants it in his mouth. 

“Like what you see?” Hank grins and wraps a hand around the base. Connor bats it away.

”You really are gorgeous,” Connor presses kisses down the swell of his belly, and Hank shivers at the brush of the cold leather jacket against his bare skin. It's looking like a long night, if Connor won't even let him touch himself.

It doesn't take him long to start begging. “Connor, please…” It's a frustrated complaint, completely warranted in Hank's opinion, when he's been waiting so long and Connor just decided to bypass his dick in favor of biting at his thighs, so close, yet not close enough.

“Please what?” Slowly, teasingly he kisses the birthmark on Hank’s thigh, an impish grin directed at Hank over the swell of his belly.

“Suck me off, put your fingers in me, I don’t care, just do something for the love of god!”

“This not enough for you, baby?” Connor hovers with his lips and inch from his aching dick, and blows a hot breath over the flushed skin.

Hank bucks his hips up and the tip of his dick swats Connor over his mouth.

“Oops,” Hank says deadpan, considering that a good enough answer.

“You are a wonder.” Connor laughs, the corner of his eyes crinkling warmly and Hank smiles back. Then, without a warning, with the last tones of laughter resonating in the room, Connor swallows him down.

“Shit.” Hank grabs a handful of Connor’s hair, tugging at it with the force of the sensation. Connor toys with him, never taking him deeper for more than a few slides, coming back to teasing kittenish licks around the sensitive head. Hank is verging the edge surprisingly soon.

“Hank?” Connor mumbles with his mouth pressed to him in a kiss. He bats his eyes, and the visual of his beautiful, flushed face between his thighs is something that will be engraved into Hank’s mind forever.

“Fuck.”

Connor smiles again. “Where’s your lube?”

“Fuck,” Hank repeats, only to hear Connor’s little giggle again. “Bottom drawer, on the right.”

“Excellent.”

In the reprieve while Connor digs through the bedside table for the lube, Hank tries his best to calm himself down. It wouldn't do if he came the moment Connor finally slipped a proper finger inside.

He watches Connor fumble, the fabric of his pants pulled taut against his perky butt. Hank could cover a cheek easily with one hand, if only he were naked too. And in that moment, he becomes painfully aware of how clothed Connor still is, and how stark naked he is in contrast.

“Aren't you hot in that?” Hank asks when Connor returns, lube uncapped and ready to be dispensed. Everything is still zipped up tight, hidden from the world, from Hank. It's quite unfair.

“What, you wanna undress me, sweetheart?” Connor's carefully styled hair, cute curl and all, is out of place, his cheeks a ruddy red, but besides that, he's still as put together as the moment they saw each other at the bar. Hank wants nothing more than to undress him.

“Maybe later.” There's a loud squirt, and then Connor is looming over him again. “If you're still up for it, after I'm done with you.” He smirks, pressing slick fingers near the entrance. “But you have to be good for me now.”

Hank pushes his fingers through the curls, messing them up more, and it makes a feeling of deep satisfaction pool in his chest, seeing Connor’s confident smile falter a bit as the line of his spine melts with the touch. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Connor kisses the side of Hank’s knee and Hank opens his legs for him, spreads his thighs rather lewdly, but he can’t find it in him to be bothered. He’s eager for Connor to make good on his word.

Hank’s warning is a warm hand on his thigh giving it a squeeze before a finger circles the rim and slowly worms its way inside. Connor is patient, gentle and oh-so very precise in his ministrations. Soon, all Hank can think, all he can taste in his mouth is Connor’s name, calling it softly over and over as the man works Hank open, as he makes him buck up into him with desperate abandon, as he makes Hank shake with waves of pleasure rippling from where Connor’s clever fingers touch him with intent.

“Connor,” Hank moans.

“Sweetheart, I could just eat you up.” He bites Hank’s belly, shaking with effort as Hank strains his muscles.

“Please, please do. Take me.”

“Oh, baby.” Connor draws his fingers back, leaving Hank terribly empty and unsatisfied. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Connor sits back and looks over his handiwork. Hank is sweaty, pliant, and beautiful, hair ringed in a halo around his head. The handsomest man he's ever seen. Connor drinks him in, mesmerized, sitting there unmoving for long enough that Hank nudges him impatiently with a foot.

‘What happened to eating me up?”

“I was in the process” Connor smiles, reaching to unzip his jacket. “With my eyes. You look delicious.” The jacket comes off, and Connor looks over at Hank, who's just as frozen in place as Connor had been just a moment ago. “Well? I thought you wanted to undress me.”

Hank's hand is a burning brand on his hip even through the thick fabric of his jeans. All Connor can think about is how large it is, and how easily Hank clutches at his hip to reel him closer. He pops the button open easily and the pants are slid off soon enough. 

“You're good at that. You do this often?” Connor pulls his shirt off. 

“Not for years.” Hank runs a hand up the small of Connor's back, leaning in to kiss up his stomach, finally putting his mouth on Connor's skin.

He murmurs against it, his beard leaving pleasant tingles. “Not since now, not since you.”

Connor feels his heart stutter in his chest: Hank’s warm words, his gentle touch, they are just as soothing as they are turbulent. He knows neither of them wants the night to end, they would continue well into the morning, maybe into the next week, next month, year, hopefully far longer than that.

“I think your compliments were misplaced, honey. You’re beautiful.” Hank’s mouth leaves wet marks on his heated skin, he ravishes him with a tenderness that makes Connor melt into him.

“Never,” Connor replies and pushes Hank onto his back. He has to act fast before Hank makes him lose that sliver, that semblance of control he still hangs onto.

“Hey, I want to make you feel good too!” Hank frowns at him from where Connor has a strong grip on his wrists.

“Believe me, sweetheart, you do.” Connor lets go and his hands find Hank’s ankles, pushing the legs up to bend at the knee. “But I can’t-” his voice breaks and Hank’s eyebrows shoot up. “You are making me feel _ too _good. I need you now or-”

Hank’s voice is consoling, his hand comes up to cup Connor’s cheek. He’s falling a little for the vulnerability he finds in Connor’s eyes. “It’s alright. You have me.”

Shifting to make space for him, he wraps his legs around Connor’s hips and crosses ankles at the small of his back as the man aligns himself. “You have me,” he repeats, whispers it with a smile, watching Connor’s eyes to grow darker, the glint coming back in full force.

When Connor finally slides in, it's like coming home. A foreign heat, yes, but nevertheless comforting in its softness, magnetic in its draw as Hank seems to pull him in. Hank releases a quiet gasp, reminiscent of Connor's name, but neither can be sure anymore.

His heart swells, filling with fondness for the man beneath him, so demanding in what he wants, yet so generous in offering all of himself.

Earlier, Connor had wanted to be surrounded, filled, enveloped, by Hank, and he seems to have gotten his wish, receptive partner or not.

Hank's arms wind around Connor's neck, forcing his head down to a kissable distance. And Hank kisses him. Soft presses of his lips against his brow, on his cheeks, his lips, the dimple of his chin.

“What are you waiting for?” A kiss on the tip of his nose. “Make me scream your name.”

For all Connor’s talk before, Hank now renders him speechless, the only syllable forming on the tip of his tongue is Hank’s name as he pulls almost all the way out and pushes back in. This time, it might be a game with no clear winner, both of their names echoing through the room, intertwined, interchangeable.

He wants to tell Hank how wonderful he feels, how he takes him perfectly, closing around him with a velvet heat that makes him forget everything but the point where they are connected. Yet, all he manages to pant out is “Sweetheart, good, so good for me.”

He presses his mouth to Hank’s pulse point where the vein bulges on his neck, swallowing down his rapid heartbeat as he moves slowly inside him.

“Connor,” Hank whispers into his ear. “I won’t break if you don’t.”

Hank pushes his heels into the small of Connor’s back and both of them moan loudly, Connor pulled in deeper than before.

“I-” Connor puff loudly, “I can assure you-” _ Pull out, thrust in. _ “That-” His voice breaks again. “Ah, fuck it.”

Connor’s head falls down into the crook of Hank’s neck again and he finally takes Hank like he wanted since the moment he first saw him sitting across the bar, filling the room with the mix of their names, woven into the hoarse sighs falling off their lips.

Connor braces himself against the meat of Hank's thighs and drives in deep, punching a strained moan from Hank's lips. “Con…” he bucks his hips up, seeking the friction from the drag of their bellies. The movement changes the angle of the thrusts, and Hank loses that thrilling edge he was just barely hanging onto. “Please, do that again.” 

“This?” Connor realigns and pushes in, the angle right, but achingly slow, nothing like what he did before. It's meant to be a teasing touch for Hank, but Connor, finds himself shivering as well, more affected than he intended to be. 

“Dammit, fuck-” Hank reaches down and finds a grip on Connor's ass. He rolls his hips, seeking more even though Connor's already buried so deep. After all, if Connor won't give him what he wants, he'll just have to take it for himself.

“Stop fucking teasing me and _ fuck _me like you mean it.”

“As you wish.” Connor grits his teeth and drives in again, with Hank’s holding him in place, he’s not able to do more than rock inside him. Still, Hank has him exactly where he wants him, his voice grows raspier as Connor brushes that spot deep inside with each thrust.

“Yes, God, just like that,” Hank pants out, his large hands splayed on Connor’s ass, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. The thought of Hank leaving imprints on him startles him, momentarily making Connor’s mind blink blank. Fingers pressed perfectly into the white of his buttocks.

Connor lifts himself up on his arms bracketing Hank’s head, his muscles shaking with the strain put on them. This way, he can put more force into his movements, more intent.

“Connor,” Hank whines and Connor catches Hank’s bottom lip between his teeth, then licks into his mouth, craving the taste of him, his wet heat.

Hank is trembling too. Underneath him, meeting him in his thrusts, rolling his hips into him. Soon, there’s not a sliver of control on either side. They are barely holding onto each other, riding the wave and climbing the peak they can almost taste.

Hank moans Connor's name again like it’s a prayer, desperate and distraught. He clutches at Connor's face, his hair, keeping him close so each breath they share, each sigh, each open-mouthed kiss become an exchange of love.

“I'm so close, please, please.” 

“Me too, me too, me too.” 

They've been chasing the precipice for so long they may as well have been reaching for it blind. But like a string pulled too tight, the tension snaps suddenly, without a warning, and Connor's rhythm breaks, his hips jerking a final thrust into Hank as he comes with a long sob. 

Hank feels him shake apart in his arms, and the sudden warmth below has him aware of what's happened before Connor's even caught his breath.

“Oh god, I'm so sorry.” They both reach down, their fingers brushing where they meet at the point where they're still connected. Connor grimaces. Hank grins. 

“Looks like you broke.” And suddenly, Connor's on his back with Hank's sitting back, smug, and straddling his hips.

“Hank, please,” Connor can only stare as the man rises above him, glorious and larger than life with a cheshire grin that would make his dick twitch again if it wasn’t already spent. 

Hank still has a tight grip on him, clenching around him and Connor has an inkling that he’s not walking away until Hank’s done with him, until he makes him scream his name at the top of his lungs in retaliation.

Hank’s cock is curved against Hank’s belly, ruddy, thick and leaking. Connor wants him in his mouth again. He reaches for him but Hank quickly swats his hands away.

“Not yet.”

Hank steadies himself, with his meaty thighs squeezing Connor’s slim hips and Connor buries his fingers in them, hanging onto them with sweet desperation, leaving half-moon patterns in the skin.

Hank’s smile softens and his hand comes up to brush against his own chest, his eyes not leaving Connor’s as his hand cups the large pec and a groan escapes him. Hank’s fingers tug at his nipple, making it harden and turn red. Connor’s mouth hangs open.

“Hank, come on!” Connor tries to touch Hank’s chest, but Hank won’t let him, taking his hands and placing them back on his thighs.

“I’m gonna come on your cock alone.” Hank starts to roll his hips.

“Oh, _ fuck _,” Connor whines as Hank’s walls clench around his softening dick, just on the verge of too much. 

“I’m so close-” Hank’s hands fall to Connor’s chest, he leans into him, head hanging low. He’s chasing the edge at a fast pace and Connor feels his eyes starting to well up.

“Hank, Hank- oh god,” Connor writhes against the sheets. His hands flexing and clenching on Hank's hairy thighs, unsure of if they want to push away and relieve his oversensitive dick, or grab him and pull the weight further on him.

Through the softness, he can feel the muscles underneath, rolling with each careful movement as Hank fights to both keep Connor inside and drag out enough friction to get himself off. It's an endless torture. 

There's a tickle at his cheek, and Connor realizes he's crying.

“Oh, baby, what's wrong?” Hank slows his frantic pace to a stop, bringing a hand to cup his face. He wipes a tear away gently with a thumb, but it seems to only start the flow anew.

“No, no.” He grabs at Hank's hand, turning his head to bury his face in the cushioned palm.

It smears the tears, which spring out unbidden with each blink, but Connor's past caring. His heart is full, and there's nowhere else for the emotions to go but out. “It's just- it's so good. You're so good.”

“Baby, it’s you-” Hank leans down to kiss Connor’s tears away. “So beautiful. So good for me.”

Connor feels overstimulated, overwhelmed, encompassed by Hank in every way. Something strange climbs out of his throat, a mix between a sob and a touch of laughter.

This night has gotten out of their hands and he’s crying in the hands of a stranger who, nonetheless, feels familiar and close to his heart. Connor wants to keep him there.

“Do you need me to stop?” Hank asks and Connor shakes his head wildly.

This time, Connor doesn’t hesitate, “I can do it, just.. stay here.” His hands find a purchase on Hank’s hips and he pulls him down on top of him and it feels so good he thinks the tears won’t stop falling, feels divine to be crushed under Hank’s weight again.

Hank whines as his cock slides between their bellies, finally allowing himself to chase the friction he gravely needed.

Connor winds a hand into Hank’s messy hair and guides him to his lips. “Move, sweetheart,” he orders into Hank’s mouth and kisses the breathy moans out of him, mixed with the salt of his tears.

Connor’s vision’s blurry but his other senses are heightened tenfold, he holds onto Hank’s belly with one hand, feeling it move like the ocean waves.

“Hank, Hank,” Connor’s voice breaks over the spell when Hank moves his mouth lower to nip at the spot below his jaw, beard scratching the soft skin, one more intense sensation to add fuel to the torturing flame licking Connor’s body.

It doesn’t take long. The ship rocks a couple more times and Hank comes with a low grunt, spilling warm between them. His arms give away and he falls down on Connor.

They lie there together, panting, waiting for their breaths to even out. Hank noses absently at the long line of Connor's neck, his lips latching onto a spot under the curve of his jaw and sucking a dark bruise into the skin.

Connor lifts his head and lets Hank have his fun. They're more than done for the night, but this is nice. The quiet of the room, the sleepy afterglow, and for Connor, the heaviness of Hank pressing him into the mattress like a weighted blanket.

He's sure he has a line of marks down his neck now, but he can't find the will in him to be annoyed.

“I won't be able to hide those when I go to work tomorrow,” Connor laughs softly.

“Maybe I don't want you to,” Hank reddens, thinking he's overstepped, but his insecurities are quickly washed away with Connor's arms tightening around him. 

Connor nuzzles closer, “I'll show them off. Everyone will know.”

Hank’s breath hitches. After all that they’ve just done, he still finds his heart beating frantically in his chest at Connor’s words.

“Do you..” He clears his throat. “Do you think I could pick you up after work tomorrow?”

Connor’s fingers find the nape of his neck and tug at Hank’s hair again, making him lift his head and look at him. Connor’s deep brown eyes no longer glisten with tears but with something equally fragile, warmth welling in them and seeping through, wrapping around Hank soothingly, slowing his nervous heartbeat.

“Sweetheart, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Hank feels a dopey grin finding its way on his face. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, then.”

“Anywhere with you,” Connor says and presses his own smile to Hank’s lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Saying Your Names" by Richard Siken
> 
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